


on heroes

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: “History and prophecy are not written rules unless we let them be. Slayers shouldn’t fight alone.”An alternate take on Prophecy Girl, set in s1.





	on heroes

Jenny wants to say something, when Rupert looks up at her with those cold, determined green eyes, but she’s seen that look on so many faces too many times. She’s spent enough time trying to change hearts and change minds to know when there’s nothing to be done.

 _Don’t,_ she wants to say, and it feels wildly inadequate, because—shouldn’t she be telling him how brave he is, how heroic? Shouldn’t someone? Maybe that’s not what heroes need, though. Maybe they don’t even realize how good they are.

“Don’t,” says Jenny anyway. Her voice comes out smaller and more vulnerable than she’s ever let it be in front of him.

The fact of the matter is that she’s selfish. She’s not like him. She’s felt so isolated in this small suburban town, on a mission of vengeance that her heart was never really in. When she looks at Rupert, she feels like there’s someone she can at least be _mostly_ honest with, if not all the way. All the way honest is a little too honest for Jenny. Always has been.

She sees Rupert falter at the look on her face. She wonders how afraid she must be, to make him look like that. “Are you quite all right?” he asks, sounding honestly surprised.

Jenny has never been good with emotions, and she doesn’t know what to tell Rupert. _I don’t want you to die_ seems too clingy for two people who only sort of know each other, but she’s been so lonely for so long, and some part of her still hopes that she and Rupert can form some sort of friendship from this alliance. He trusts her, clearly, enough to tell her that he’s a Watcher—why can’t she be honest with him about this?

“He’s a centuries-old vampire.” Jenny has to force out every word. “You can’t just—charge in and kill him like some kind of conquering hero. It’s stupid.” God, this is not what she wants to get across, but maybe if she gets him angry enough, he’ll forget about being heroic. “Stupid, and—and elitist—”

“Elitist,” Rupert repeats. He sounds dryly amused. It unnerves Jenny that he’s this calm about going in on a suicide mission. “Ms. Calendar, I’m well aware that you think little of my values—”

“Shut up, okay?” Jenny moves forward, skirting the table to stand in front of him. “Just—shut up. I don’t want to hear about it. This vampire is going to kill you, and Buffy will _not_ be happy about her Watcher being killed, and, and what am I supposed to do when the Vampire Slayer finds out that I just let her Watcher go down and get killed?”

Rupert’s face softens. Jenny feels uncomfortably understood and has to take a step away. “I really am sorry,” he says. “I—I can understand how this sort of thing can be distressing to hear.”

“And you’re going to miss finals,” Jenny finishes loudly. She doesn’t like the thought of Rupert recognizing her as _distressed._ She’s not distressed, anyway. She’s just—shaken. Because of the deaths. And the earthquake. Earthquakes do tend to shake people up.

“I trust that you’ll tell Buffy—” Rupert begins.

Jenny looks at him, and—oh, god, she’s not brave, she’s not special, she’s not a Slayer or a Watcher or a vampire trapped under the ground. But she imagines becoming the kind of person who lets someone go charging off to their death alone, imagines Rupert becoming another name on the list of Sunnydale High casualties, imagines living with the knowledge that she could have done _something—_

“I’m coming with you,” she says.

A series of emotions flicker across Rupert’s face. First bemusement, then wide-eyed shock, then a soft, surprised kind of appreciation, but he seems to settle on indignance long enough to say sharply, “Absolutely not.”

Jenny feels a rush of fury at the fact that he thinks he can just _stop_ her from doing things, and decides to focus on that instead of the sheer terror that comes with the thought of her facing the Master. “Oh, you are _not_ serious,” she retorts, taking a step forward and stabbing Rupert’s chest with her finger. “You don’t get to play the—the Watcher card or whatever the hell this is right now. I helped you with Moloch, so I’m helping you with this.”

“This is an entirely different area of expertise,” Rupert says. To Jenny’s surprise, he’s beginning to look frightened, much more so than when he was talking about going down to face the Master by himself.

“Wow, you really can’t work with a team, can you?” Jenny crosses her arms and begins to stalk over to the weapons cabinet.

Rupert grabs her shoulder, pulling her back to face him. “I will _not_ be responsible for any deaths tonight,” he says fiercely, “be it through action or inaction. You are _staying here._ ”

“Oh, of _course_ ,” says Jenny very sarcastically, “because orders work so _well_ on impressionable, fragile women like me.” She looks up at him, almost comforted by their argument. It feels so much easier to be angry at Rupert than to be scared for him. “You know I’m just going to follow you,” she says. “Why don’t you at least make sure I’m properly armed?”

Rupert hasn’t let go of her shoulder. “He is a centuries-old vampire,” he says quietly. “Chances are that he will kill us both without hesitation.”

“I’m not letting you die by yourself in some weird underground chamber,” says Jenny angrily, and realizes too late the genuine honesty behind the statement. The anger is gone very abruptly when she sees the change in the way Rupert’s looking at her, and she tries to fumble for something else to say. “Snob,” she manages, but her voice breaks.

Rupert gives her a wobbly smile. Quietly, his hand lets go of her shoulder, grazing her arm before moving to tangle her fingers with his. “Annoyance,” he murmurs, and it almost feels like he’s trying to comfort her.

“Luddite,” Jenny forces out. It doesn’t make the situation feel any less frightening or any more normal.

“Thank you,” says Rupert quietly without letting go of Jenny’s hand. It’s very clear that he’s not talking about being called a Luddite. “I would never have expected this of you. Nor asked it.”

“Yeah, well,” says Jenny awkwardly. She doesn’t know what to do with herself.

This is when Buffy comes in, slow and deliberate. She looks slightly startled upon seeing Jenny, but doesn’t comment, just looks to Rupert and says, “I’m going.”

“You are most certainly _not,_ ” says Rupert, and his hand tightens around Jenny’s.

“What, and you and Ms. Calendar are?” Buffy’s got that same determined look on her face that Jenny had seen on Rupert just a few moments ago.

Jenny’s had enough time to work through her dumb-struck hesitation to know that she can’t stand by and let a sixteen-year-old girl go down by herself. She thinks, casting around desperately for something that will give Buffy pause— “Prophecy,” she says, tugging her hand free of Rupert’s, “is a stupid thing to live your life by. You let yourself be ruled by what some guys and their books have decided, you end your life just because you’re so determined to be the Slayer—”

“What do you know?” Buffy’s voice is hard and angry all of a sudden, no longer detached and resigned. Jenny knows enough from arguments with Rupert to know that this in itself is a small victory. “You can’t _possibly_ know anything from a five-minute briefing session Giles gave you. Being the Slayer is my _life._ It’s who I am. It’s not something I can discard at will just because I think my life is more important then the people the Master’s gonna kill if he walks free.” Her eyes are glimmering with tears. “I want to _live,_ ” she says, and it’s both fierce and small.

Jenny breathes out. She doesn’t know what to say.

“Prophecy is what I’ve lived my life by ever since they told me what I was,” says Buffy, and sniffles. “I’ve already made my decision on this. Please don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

Maybe things would have turned out differently if Jenny hadn’t looked over at Rupert. But when she does, she understands exactly why he was ready to fight the Master for this girl. He’s looking at Buffy like his whole world has condensed to the tears in her eyes, and Jenny knows just like that—Buffy _is_ Rupert’s world.

“Buffy,” he says, very softly. Almost a plea.

“Prophecy says you have to fight the Master.” Jenny steps up, and now she’s crossing her arms to keep them from shaking. “P-prophecy doesn’t say that you have to do it alone.”

Rupert looks over at Jenny. So does Buffy. She’s expecting them both to launch into another argument, each trying to get the other to stay behind, but then Rupert says, “I agree.”

“Giles—” Buffy begins.

“I was wrong. I’ll readily admit it.” Rupert looks back up at Buffy. “History and prophecy are not written rules unless we let them be. Slayers shouldn’t fight alone.”

“One girl in all the world—”

“And Rupert,” says Jenny. “And me.”

“And us.”

All eyes turn to the two figures standing by the counter. Willow’s gripping one of the swords from the book cage, and Xander’s fumbling with a mace.

“ _No,_ ” says Buffy sharply. “Guys, Giles and Ms. Calendar are adults. I can’t stop them on this one.”

“And you can’t stop us, either,” Willow replies with that tender stubbornness that usually makes Jenny smile. Right now, it’s making her feel nauseous.

“Yeah,” Xander agrees, and nearly drops the mace on his own foot.

“Actually, I agree with Buffy on this one.” Rupert moves forward, trying to tug the mace away from Xander. “Xander, Willow—you two are hardly prepared, I couldn’t let you—listen, just, just stay with Ms. Calendar—”

“Oh, you are _not_ sidelining me,” says Jenny sharply.

“Ms. _Calendar’s_ going?” Willow sounds horrified. “Giles, she’s never fought _anything_ before!”

“Willow, you’re fifteen, there’s no way in hell I’m letting _you_ go down and fight a vampire,” Jenny retorts.

“Give me the mace!” Rupert’s snapping at Xander.

“No way, Giles!” Xander bursts out.

“Look, you’re not being reasonable—” Jenny persists.

“Just because I’m fifteen—” Willow begins angrily.

“ _WOULD EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP?_ ” Buffy shouts.

Rupert lets go of the mace, eyes wide. Jenny turns to look up at Buffy, and Xander and Willow seem to do the same.

“No one is getting _anywhere,_ ” says Buffy fiercely, “if all we do is yell at each other about who’s going and who’s not. There are two things that are very clear right now: no one wants the Master to get out, and no one wants anyone else in this room to go down and fight him and possibly die.” She looks over at Giles, and her expression softens. “Which means a lot,” she says, “but I don’t think now’s the time for _anyone_ to try and play the lone hero.”

Rupert nods, trying to smile.

“If we do this,” says Buffy, “we do this together.”

This is not at all the way Jenny saw prom night going. “I’m in,” she says, and steps forward, bumping her shoulder lightly against Rupert’s. As an afterthought, she turns to him and informs him, “You owe me a dance at prom when we get back.”

“Most certainly,” says Rupert, who’s giving her that shy, appreciating look again. Jenny’s not sure what to make of it. He looks back up at Buffy, and says, “I-I agree. I’ll join you.”

“And us too, Buffy, it goes without saying,” says Willow, giving Buffy a shaky, frightened grin. Jenny tries to imagine how brave Willow must be, and can’t. At fifteen, _she_ would have run from the room at the thought of fighting a master vampire. “We’re gonna take him down.”

“Sure are,” Xander agrees. “Now, let me put back this mace. There’s no way I can figure out how to use it.”

The kids head towards the weapons cage, and Jenny heads toward Rupert. She wants to say something—she’s not sure what—but he beats her to it with a, “There’s still time for you to back down, you know.”

A few months back, this would have made Jenny furious. But she sees the fear and worry in Rupert’s gaze when he looks at her, and she knows that his reminder doesn’t come from a place of condescension. He wants her safe, she realizes. It’s the first time in a long while that someone’s thought to want that. “I’m going,” she says with conviction. “ _Someone’s_ gotta make sure you don’t die.”

She waits for Rupert to laugh quietly, or sigh dramatically, but he just looks at her and says shyly, “I-I believe I’ll rather like dancing with you, when we get back.”

God, he’s so _genuine._ It makes Jenny feel weirdly happy, looking at him, especially considering that they’re probably going to die in like five minutes. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that’ll be nice.”

* * *

 

There’s a little kid waiting outside the school, pale and expressionless. “Help me,” he says, walking straight up to Buffy without any regard for the rest of them.

“And the Slayer will not know him,” says Rupert quietly, “and he will lead her into hell.”

Jenny wishes she was brave enough to kill the little demon, but all she can think about is how sad his mom must be. Wherever she is. Maybe his mom’s dead too.

Buffy looks over at Giles, then takes the kid’s hand. “All right, guys,” she says.

“Only you,” says the Anointed One.

Buffy smiles, then, the first real smile Jenny’s seen from her since she entered the library. Her hand tightens on the Anointed One’s. “Sorry,” she says. “My friends are a package deal.”

Xander loads his crossbow in what seems to be an attempt to look threatening and nearly stabs himself in the hand with one of the bolts. Next to them, Willow readies her sword.

“I won’t take you to him if you aren’t alone,” the Anointed One informs Buffy. “Prophecy says—”

“We defy prophecy,” says Rupert, and it’s the first time that Jenny’s felt all warm and happy to hear him sounding his austere, snobby self. Not that he’s _actually_ a snob—that’s become remarkably clear tonight. But still. “We are going. And there’s nothing you can do to change our minds.”

The Anointed One looks at them, looks at Buffy, seems to decide that it isn’t worth a fight, and says, “It’s your funeral.” Turning, he begins to walk, heading towards…the sewers.

Gross.

“Do vampires just…habitually live in disgusting places?” Jenny asks Rupert quietly as they walk. “Is that just a thing with them? Like, you know, they drink blood, they kill humans, they live in awful little holes in the ground?”

“You are quite exasperatingly yourself in every scenario,” says Rupert, but he’s smiling a little. “Are you—holding a baseball bat?”

“I’m not using a giant broadsword or a knife or whatever,” Jenny informs him seriously. “I have the keys to the PE locker, and I utilized them.” She smiles back. “Plus, I played softball in college. I’ve got a killer swing.”

The Anointed One gives Jenny a weird look over his shoulder, as though he doesn’t get why she’s talking about softball when she’s walking to her doom. Jenny gives him a look back, partially because she doesn’t get it either and partially because she doesn’t appreciate getting weird looks from their pint-sized vampire tour guide.

It’s eerie in the sewers, half-lit by torches that don’t do that great a job of illuminating their path. Jenny finds herself holding onto the sleeve of Rupert’s tweed jacket, just to make sure she knows where she’s going and doesn’t stumble and fall and get murdered by the Master, who maybe decided to sneak up on them. Maybe this whole thing with the Anointed One is a ruse. Maybe he’s lying in wait. Maybe—

Rupert’s jacket slips out of Jenny’s grasp, and there’s a jolt of panic until she feels his hand move to take hers. “You’ll be all right,” he says very quietly. “I promise.”

There’s nothing even remotely reassuring about that, no matter how much Jenny wants to find comfort in his words. She’s starting to wish that she’d just let Rupert and the kids go off into these sewers and—and gone home. Had some midnight coffee.

Found out the next day that everyone she cared about in this town was dead.

Yeah, no. Much as Jenny hates this oppressive, awful fear, she knows she’s made the right decision. She holds tightly to Rupert’s hand as they enter a more well-lit area—an entrance, she realizes.

The Anointed One stops, letting go of Buffy’s hand, and points down towards the stone steps. He pushes past them all, not seeming all that interested in drinking anyone’s blood. Small mercies, Jenny thinks. Imagine having _that_ be the way she died—kindergarten vampire food.

Buffy steps forward first, then Willow and Xander, then Jenny and Rupert. Jenny wants to be brave enough to let go of Rupert’s hand. She isn’t. Surprising, that Rupert doesn’t seem to think less of her for holding on so tightly. _If we don’t die,_ she thinks, _I’m going to tell him how wrong I was about him. Somehow._

“Fascinating,” says a low, old voice.

Jenny can’t let go of Rupert’s hand. She really needs to, but she _can’t_ let go of Rupert’s hand.

“The Slayer isn’t usually foolish enough to bring along a little posse,” says the Master, moving forward and out of the shadows. His gaze flits from Buffy to Willow to Xander to Rupert to Jenny. He doesn’t pause on her, which is a little bit of a relief.

Jenny can’t imagine being as brave as Buffy is now, staring down the Master with nothing but contempt in her eyes. “Some people call it foolish,” Buffy says, taking a step forward. There’s no fear in her. “I call it strength.”

“ _Strength,_ ” the Master repeats with amusement. “You call it _strength,_ that you need so many weak mortals around to believe you will defeat me? I call it a security blanket.”

“Then you’re stupider than I thought,” says Willow, her voice high and angry. “A-and there’s no shame in having security blankets!”

“Being afraid is only a weakness to weak people,” says Rupert, in a cold, reserved sort of way. His thumb strokes Jenny’s hand comfortingly. “I expect you wouldn’t understand that sort of thing.”

Buffy takes another step forward, studying the Master. “I’ve spent a lot of time being told that it’s a Chosen One who has to slay the vampires,” she tells him, her voice bouncy-conversational in the same way Jenny’s heard her speak to teachers and friends and parents alike. “I’ve heard that in the end, it’s a final showdown between you and me.” She looks over her shoulder, smiling at them all with tender appreciation, and Jenny starts to understand why it’s _this_ girl that Rupert would have given his life trying to keep from a prophesized death. “But I have people who care too much about me to believe that,” she says, “and what that tells me is that there’s no reason I should be scared of you.”

The Master scoffs. “How comforted will you be when I paint the walls red with the blood of your friends?” he demands, and raises a hand towards Willow.

Jenny sees the look in his eyes, the way his hands reach with those claws. She’s read enough about vampiric thralls to know what the Master’s about to do, and—and she’s seen too many deaths in this town to let a girl like Willow fall. “You’re stalling,” she says loudly, determined to distract him, make him angry.

The Master turns to her. “How so?” he inquires, indifferent yet inquiring, kind of the way a cat plays with a mouse.

Jenny hates that metaphor. She wishes she had time to think of something a little less cliché. “You don’t need to hurt any of us,” she says, and tries to think of all the stupid things Rupert’s done so that she can be angry enough to be brave. But all she can think of is his sweet little half-smile, the kind that makes her want to stay in one place instead of run, and the way it feels when she knows she’s surprised him.

She thinks about that, and—she’s okay. She’s good with what happens. Well, not really, because she’s not _that_ much of a hero, but she figures that she’s lived enough of a life to go out making fun of a master vampire. Way more impressive than getting eaten by the Anointed One. Jenny’s getting off topic.

“Fear’s what controls the weak,” says Jenny, looking straight at the Master. She’s kind of borrowing Rupert’s words, but whatever distracts the Master works well enough for her. “Love is what motivates the strong.”

“And you think that because I attack you, I am afraid?” The Master sounds cruelly amused by this. “Foolish woman. For one so well-spoken—”

“I think you’re too afraid to attack the Slayer directly,” says Rupert, who seems to understand what Jenny’s trying to do.

“I think what they’re getting at is that you’re a big old chicken,” Xander puts in.

“I think you could do with a nose job!” Willow puts in, looking exhilarated by her own bravery.

Buffy looks behind her, and there’s a sparkle in her eye. “My friends,” she says, and there’s a beautiful, bright smile on her face. “They’ve always got my back. Who’s got your back when we kick your ass?”

And that’s when Rupert rushes the Master.

Rupert is the one who picked up the mace, which catches the Master straight in the knees. This is a pretty smooth move, because when Willow comes in swinging with a broadsword, she leaves a deep gash in the Master’s arm as he doubles over. Buffy’s throwing punches left and right, Xander seems to still not understand how to use a crossbow properly, and Jenny finds herself bringing a baseball bat down on a centuries-old vampire’s head.

“You know, I never was the violent type,” she yells to Rupert over the chaos. The Master’s putting up quite a fight, and it’s all she can do to dodge his return blows. “I was voted _Bookworm_ in my high school yearbook.”

“Oh, you read books?” Rupert shouts back. “Glad to hear you didn’t _always_ undervalue the written word.”

“Could you guys _stop bickering_ for _two seconds,_ ” Buffy demands as she hits the Master across the face, but there’s a laugh in her voice.

That’s when a blow from the Master happens to catch Willow in the stomach. Everyone else seems much too busy trying to divert the Master with various weapons to actually reach Willow, so Jenny drops her baseball bat (gratefully, Xander stops awkwardly hitting the Master with his crossbow and picks the bat up instead) and leans down, winding an arm around Willow’s waist to pull her up and away from the fight.

“I’m—fine,” Willow wheezes.

“No, I got that,” Jenny agrees, moving Willow over to lean against a wall. “Let’s take a breather, okay?”

“Buffy—needs—me—”

“Buffy’s a pretty kickass chick,” Jenny reminds Willow, smoothing down her hair. “And so are you. You’re the reason he’s bleeding all over his nice stone floor.”

Willow coughs and laughs, smiling a little dazedly up at Jenny.

“Stay here,” Jenny directs her, making sure that Willow’s holding tightly to her sword. She looks like a little warrior, dusty and bloody and pigtailed. Jenny turns back to the battle—

The Master throws a hand up, knocking Rupert and Xander both back against the wall. Willow manages to catch Xander as he flies at her, but Rupert’s head hits the wall with a painful-sounding _crack._

Jenny _runs._

Rupert’s breathing. He’s breathing. Jenny pulls him into his lap, and—and there’s a lot of blood, but she read somewhere that scalp wounds bleed a lot, and he is _so_ not dying on her before she gets that dance. “You got your chance to be a hero,” she says fiercely, “and you were great, okay, just—don’t die on me, Snobby.”

“Don’t call me that,” says Rupert blearily. “Also, ow.”

Jenny sniffles (was she crying?), smiles, and looks up at Buffy and the Master.

“Look at your friends!” There’s a triumphant laugh in the Master’s voice. “Huddled, wounded, sobbing—it takes so little to frighten humans. You call love strength? I call it weakness.”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” says Buffy, and breaks Jenny’s baseball bat in half, thrusting the broken-off end through the Master’s heart.

“Thank you for bringing that,” Rupert mumbles. “Quite—quite convenient, really.”

Jenny looks up at Buffy. She’s shaking a little, now, but when she turns back to them, she’s smiling too. “We did it,” she says, and then she just straight-up starts crying.

“Oh—” Rupert tries to pull himself up to Buffy, but he falls dizzily back into Jenny’s arms, head against her shoulder. “Oh, I—”

Willow and Xander stumble to Buffy, encircling her in a tight hug as she sobs. They’re whispering proud, bright words of reassurance, and it seems like they’re both crying a little too.

Jenny leans against the wall and holds Rupert in her arms, letting herself look at him. His eyes are half-shut, his cheek on her shoulder, and there’s blood all over her sweater. He’s holding her just as much as she’s holding him. There’s something profoundly comforting about that. “You okay?” she murmurs.

Rupert raises his head, wincing. “I’ve had worse,” he says. “Given—my line of work, this is really just another day at the, um, office. So to speak.”

“Your office sure is a heck of a place,” says Jenny, and they both laugh, more out of nerves and adrenaline than anything.

* * *

Turns out, it is a flesh wound. At least, according to Rupert, who stubbornly refuses to go to the hospital. “It’s too late,” he keeps saying, “and I am _not_ missing prom.”

“God, you sound like Cordelia,” Buffy teases him gently, pressing the wet cloth to the back of Rupert’s head before beginning to bandage the injury. It’s difficult for Jenny to make out what Buffy’s doing in the dim lights of the Bronze, but it seems secure.

“I’m going to look like an idiot,” Rupert mutters.

“Oh, come on.” Jenny knocks his shoulder. “Who are you trying to impress?”

Rupert colors, and gives her a furtive look through his eyelashes that makes Jenny’s breath catch a little. The playful smile freezes on her face.

“Hey, I love this song!” Buffy starts bouncing her head to the beat. “Ms. Calendar, can you finish him up? I have _got_ to get back out there—Willow says she’s gonna buy me a cookie. You know, for saving the world and everything.”

“I think you deserve more than just a cookie, Buffy,” Jenny comments, smiling slightly.

Buffy smiles back before handing Jenny the bandages. “Hey,” she says quietly to Rupert, and places a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Rupert looks up at Buffy with those soft, proud eyes. “Of course,” he says, and rests his hand over Buffy’s very briefly, watching her as she hurries happily off to dance with Willow.

Jenny steps over to stand behind Rupert, working on the bandages. The bleeding seems to have stopped, which makes the whole bandaging thing somewhat easier. “You feeling better?” she asks, letting her hand brush his forehead in what could be considered a caress.

Rupert leans back into her touch, very slightly. “Thank you,” he says. “You were—incredibly brave tonight.”

This gives Jenny pause. All she can remember about the sewers and taking down the Master is a haze of fear. “I was very afraid tonight,” she says carefully, finishing with the last of the bandaging.

“And yet you hit the Master over the head with a baseball bat,” Rupert comments, and gets up out of his chair to face Jenny, looking at her with an admiring smile. “Ms. Calendar—”

“Jenny,” Jenny corrects him.

Rupert’s eyes get all soft, like melted chocolate—or, no, his eyes are green, but Jenny can’t think of anything green that’s quite that warm and welcoming. “Jenny, then,” he says. “It’s—impossible to be brave without being afraid. It’s quite possible to back down when one is as afraid as you were.”

“You noticed that, huh?” Jenny tries to smile, but feels something hard and sad in her chest. She can’t look at him.

“You misunderstand me.” Rupert reaches out, placing a tentative hand on Jenny’s arm. “It takes a special kind of bravery to do the right thing at great personal risk to one’s own safety, and—given your relative inexperience with fighting vampires, I had never expected you to make the choices that you did tonight.”

The conversation’s becoming too raw and real for Jenny. The way Rupert’s looking at her makes her want to move away from his touch and onto the dance floor. She’s not ready to let _anyone_ in, let alone some guy who’s probably going to end up dead in the next few months. “Are all your nights like this?” she says, trying to smile.

“Generally, I go home after the vampire throws me against a wall,” Rupert quips, letting his hand drop from Jenny’s arm as he adjusts his glasses.

Jenny feels—she’s not sure how to describe it. Acutely aware of the fact that she’s alive, maybe, but that doesn’t explain the almost-dizzying adrenaline rush every time she looks at Rupert. Like she wants to _say_ something, or _do_ something, but she doesn’t know what just yet.

A slow song starts playing, and she makes her decision, taking Rupert’s hand and holding it up between them. “Dance with me,” she says. Rupert begins to stammer something, but she reminds him, “You _said_ you would, England. Don’t you dare back down on me now.”

Rupert fumbles, then smiles. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer,” he confesses.

Jenny considers this, then leads him off the dance floor, off into a quieter, more secluded corner of the Bronze. She glances over her shoulder to see if anyone’s noticed, but everyone in the vicinity is either dancing or drinking some of the possibly-spiked punch. “Here,” she says, smiling slightly. “No one can see our bad dancing, and we can still hear the music.”

Tentatively, Rupert moves forward, taking Jenny awkwardly in his arms. At first, it’s just haphazard swaying, no real dancing to it, and they seem almost painfully out of sync. But then Rupert’s hand finds a place on Jenny’s waist, and his other hand takes hers, and he’s leading her in a quiet little waltz.

There are some things you go through together and it’s just—you can’t _not_ be close after that. Jenny can’t stop thinking about Rupert’s hand in hers in the sewers. He didn’t have to be as kind as he was, but he cared enough to try. “You’re a bona fide hero, you know that?” she says softly as they sway to the beat.

“Hardly.” There’s a rueful laugh in Rupert’s voice.

“Do you always have to argue with me?” Jenny pulls her head back, smiling at him. This is a strange, new kind of argument, one without quite as much angry heat behind it. Still some heat there, though. Definitely. “Would it kill you to just let me say that you’re a hero and keep dancing?”

“Much as I do appreciate the sentiment,” says Rupert in a half-sad matter-of-fact kind of way, “one moment of impulsive heroics does not a hero make.”

“Heroes don’t get to decide whether or not they’re heroes, Rupert,” Jenny tells him. “Other people decide it for them.”

“Yes, well, that seems a bit…” Rupert trails off, hesitating. “Foolish,” he says finally. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of calling someone a hero, though?” Jenny tries to sound light and playful, but she means what she’s saying and she gets the sense that Rupert can tell. “Pointless, naïve idealization? You call me brave without a second thought,” she finds herself faltering, now, because this is almost _too_ honest for this conversation, “you tell me I’m admirable, I’m special…”

She trails off, afraid to continue, and looks away from Rupert, trying to focus in on something that isn’t him. Buffy’s dancing with a laughing Willow, Xander hovering awkwardly around the both of them. The band’s still playing, and there’s still that strange twist of uncertainty in Jenny’s chest. She’s not used to being this truthful with anyone.

“You’d prefer that I call you reckless and irritating?” Startled by Rupert’s voice, Jenny looks back over at him. He gives her a tired smile. “I’m certainly happy to oblige if that’d make you feel a bit better, Ms. Calendar,” he says, “but if I’m a hero then you most certainly are one as well.”

Jenny considers this, then moves forward, resting her cheek on Rupert’s shoulder as the slow song ends. He’s warm, and even though they’ve been in a centuries-old underground chamber, he still has that musty library smell that always used to bother her about the Sunnydale High library. There’s something very comforting about that small yet familiar thing.

Rupert fumbles, and suddenly he’s stopped dancing, and Jenny’s faced with the strange realization that this is the closest she’s been to _anyone_ in a very long time, and that’s…fucking terrifying, actually. She wants to raise her head, pull back, turn the moment into a well-placed quip that has Rupert stammering, but…his trust is _worth_ something. It isn’t just anyone that he’d let this close.

Jenny almost wants to laugh. Looks like they have more in common than she thought.

A fast song starts up, and Rupert jerks away as if startled back into his own skin. “Well—” he manages.

All of a sudden, Jenny feels bubbly and happy looking at him. It’s a little disconcerting. “ _Well,_ ” she says, deciding to steer the conversation to more familiar terrain, “is your supernatural database up to date? Because that prophecy of yours fucking sucked, _Mr. Giles._ ”

“That’s—” Rupert huffs, indignantly taking her hand. “That’s _incorrect,_ ” he says, leading them out of their dancing spot and into the main area. “My prophecy books are of the _highest_ quality—”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Jenny with her best Feigned-Agreement face, “clearly, because your Slayer _did_ die tonight at the hands of the Master. That’s definitely what happened.”

Then—and, okay, she should not be joking about something so serious that nearly cost them all their lives—but then Jenny starts laughing like crazy. A lot of it is adrenaline, and she’s pretty sure some of it is also relief, and she keeps on trying to stop but it is really not working.

She’s expecting Rupert to be horrified and angry, but he looks at her and then he starts laughing too, just as hard and just as uncontrollably. Both of them sound near-hysterical, and both of them probably are; regardless of the weird, wonderful connection they’ve made, it’s still been one incredibly fucked-up night.

Their laughter fades away, and Jenny finds herself with this tired, sad feeling that won’t fade. This is her life right now, but this is Rupert’s life _all the time._ How the hell does he deal with the fact that he has to send a sixteen-year-old into battle every day? How does he manage to do that without getting himself hurt in the process?

Rupert takes her hand in his, and Jenny looks up. He looks tired, too, worn around the edges. She notices for the first time that his glasses were bent in the fall; they sit crookedly on his face. “We’ll be heroes together, then,” he says. “For each other, if for no one else.”

Jenny doesn’t think she wants Rupert to know exactly how lonely she’s been up until now. She’s only now figured it out. “I think I like that concept,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i changed the ending...feels like it might work a little better as the beginning of a new project i have planned. the original ending (complete w/ kisses) still exists somewhere over on my tumblr @ jenny-calendar


End file.
